Lights, Camera, Action
by Austin B
Summary: Steve gets a job as costume designer for Shield Studios, where he meets movie star Bucky Barnes, and it all unravels from there.
1. Meet Cute

Steve was _going_ to go in to the building. Honestly, he _was_. He was just working himself up to it. Catching his breath. Gathering his thoughts. Admiring the architecture.

He stood in front of Shield studios lot, the guard at the gate eyeing him warily, with his portfolio clutched in white-knuckled fingers.

"I knew it," Sam said from behind him.

Steve was too preoccupied to be startled at Sam sneaking up on him, but not enough to not be annoyed.

"I'm _going_ to go in," he said, scowling at his friend and roommate.

"So why aren't you in already?"

"I'm catching my breath," Steve said defensively. "Gathering my thoughts—"

"Admiring the architecture?" Sam finished. Steve scowled deeper. "Imma drag your useless ass inside if you don't start moving right now."

Steve could just picture it, so he finally moved up to the guard's booth.

"I'm here to see Mr. Fury," he said.

"Steve Rogers?"

Steve nodded, and tried to listen to the guard's directions on how to reach the costume department, but the gate was opening, and he was out of excuses.

Steve was generally a pretty confident person. Once he'd turned 17 and shot up and out like a bad weed with a six pack, he hadn't had much reason not to be. Sure, he still harbored some of the social anxiety that went with being a scrawny, sickly kid in high school, but mostly he'd gotten past all that.

The thing was, he _really really really_ wanted this job. Like, really. Designing costumes for Shield studios under Nick Fury would be a dream come true. The man had won two Oscars for costume design and was a Hollywood legend. If it turned out working on films wasn't Steve's thing, he could go back to theater after a year or so, but so many more doors would be open to him after the experience. No show on Broadway would be too big.

The pressure that knowledge put on this interview was immense.

Steve stopped, realizing he'd been walking while deep in thought and now had no idea where he was. The corridor was abandoned. There was a door up to the right, but it was locked. He heard voices coming toward him and spun a tight, panic-induced 360, but there was nowhere to go. So he leaned his back against the wall and tried to look casual.

"OK, see ya, Bruce," one voice said, and one set of footsteps continued toward him and rounded the corner.

"Hey," a man said, then stopped. "You don't look so good, you need a bucket or something?"

"Huh, what? No, I'm fine," Steve said hurriedly. Obviously he hadn't done as good of a job at looking casual as he'd hoped. He must've looked rather sick. That would go over real well in an interview, along with being late.

Steve's brain finally caught up with his eyes and he realized the cute brunette he was staring at _James goddamn Barnes_, who was looking at him with concern.

"You sure? Can I help you find something?" His hair fell just below his ears, and he had the top half pulled back. It was very distracting.

"I, uh," Steve stammered, when one corner of James's mouth turned up. God, he was making a fool of himself. "I have an interview with Mr. Fury?" It came out as a question, and Steve wanted to punch himself in the face.

"Saint Nick?" James said with a smile. "Don't be so nervous, the guy's a puppy dog. He sounds terrifying, and he's a hard ass at first, but say something about chiffon and he'll be putty in your hands."

Steve let out a breath and offered a small grateful smile. "Thanks."

"And you're like, in the complete opposite direction of wardrobe," James said apologetically, with a smile.

Steve had to laugh at that. "I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention to the directions at the gate."

"No problem, I'll take you," James said, starting off back the way Steve had come. Steve fell in step next to him and tried not to trip over himself. He wondered what James was doing for Shield studios. They always had a million and two projects going. He was sure he wouldn't have the good (bad?) luck to be working on the same project as him.

He'd seen James in a few indie movies over the past few years, and Hollywood was just starting to pick up on his talent. Steve was comfortable enough with himself to admit he'd harbored a little bit of crush on him since seeing him on screen the first time. In fact, that was when he first began to understand and accept his bisexuality.

And now Steve was walking _next_ to him. _Talking_ to him.

Well, listening to him.

Well, sort of.

"Sorry?" Steve prompted, when James was looking at him with raised eyebrows, as if he'd just asked him a question.

James smiled apologetically again, like he knew Steve was a little star struck. "I asked how long you'd been in costume design?"

"Oh, I've been working at little theaters here and there for about five years now. I went to school for fine art, but took an internship doing costumes for Othello, and fell in love."

James looked genuinely interested in his background, and Steve felt the blush that had been present for the past ten minutes intensify. He was trying to sneak discreet glances to the man on his right without outright staring, and thought he was doing rather a good job of it.

James was wearing jeans low on his hips with grey converse shoes and a long-sleeved button down shirt in blue and green plaid. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbow, and there was black and red ink peeking out from under the sleeve on his left arm.

Steve hadn't known James had any tattoos, and it made his brain sort of misfire. Luckily they were crossing the open air lot and someone called out to "Bucky" from an open warehouse door, so he didn't see Steve's steps stutter.

"Sorry, I gotta go," James apologized. "Just go through that red door and it's the last door on the left," he said, pointing across the lot. He held out his hand and Steve shook it, thanks solely to his ingrained courtesy and muscle memory.

"Good luck, man, I hope you get the job," he said sincerely and made to turn away, but turned back again. "Oh, I'm Bucky by the way!" He said as he walked backward a few steps.

_Bucky?_ James _goddamn_ Barnes wanted him to use his nickname? Steve felt vaguely as if he were going to float away at any moment.

Bucky gave a cute little wave, and Steve decided to make an eye appointment, because it _looked_ to him like Bucky's gaze traveled from his face to his shoes and back up again. It _looked_ like he was smiling coyly.

Steve only just managed _not_ to say "I know."

"Steve." Steve said, super smooth. "Rogers."

And then Bucky turned and jogged toward the open warehouse door, and the crew member with a goatee and a headset who'd called to him.

Steve glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. It was 9:59. He dashed in the direction Bucky'd pointed, and found the door marked "Wardrobe."

Steve rapped on the door frame and poked his head inside the open door. There were racks of clothes to the right, a vanity framed with old-style exposed lightbulbs directly ahead and a couch and coffee table to the left, littered with fabric scraps, magazines, swatch books and sketch pads.

A man appeared from between a red and blue spangly gown. The contrast was so sharp it nearly made Steve cross eyed. Fury wore dark jeans, a grey cable-knit sweater, black beret and a legit eye patch.

He was either scowling hard at Steve or was afflicted with a resting bitch face. Either way, it took Steve a couple tries to form words.

"I'm—I'm Steve Rogers. I'm here for-"

"I know what you're here for, son. Come in, quit lurking in the doorway. It's rude."

Fury leaned back against the vanity and gestured for Steve to sit on the couch. Not an inch of it wasn't covered in debris, so Steve carefully swiped his arm across the cushion and sat quickly on the edge, holding his portfolio in his lap.

"You don't look like you'd be any good at this job," Fury said, holding his hand out expectantly.

Steve jerked and thrust his portfolio out.

"I, uh," Steve unfortunately reverted to total honesty when he didn't know what to say. "I resent that," he said finally, and Fury stopped flipping through his portfolio and glanced up at him. "I spent the better half of my life looking like a stiff breeze would knock me over, and everyone underestimated me then too. And to be completely honest, Mr. Fury, neither do you," Steve said, gesturing vaguely to Fury, from his eye patch to his crocs, which Steve was just now noticing.

To his great and unending surprise, Fury smiled.

The rest of the interview was a blur of auto-pilot, which would come back to Steve in snippets over the next two days and cause another bout of groaning and face-palming. He was sure he'd blown it. No one wanted a mouthy employee. Most of his face-palming, though, was due to his utterly horrific interaction with Bucky. He'd told Sam every detail of that nightmare first, through a throw pillow clutched against his face when he'd returned to their apartment after the interview.

"You're gonna be rubbing shoulders with lots of stars now, Steve. Don't worry about it, you'll get used to it," Sam had said to soothe him.

But lots of other stars weren't the problem. The problem was that he'd gotten a chance to meet Bucky Barnes and he'd wasted it. Steve always thought that if he ever met a celebrity he'd be super chill about it. They're just people after all. But the added stress of the interview, and the fact that it was Bucky, who just seemed to get Steve hot under the collar like nobody else, made him act like a 17 year old again. Two days later, and Steve felt like his blush was finally dissipating.

Though the simple fact that the interview was over was a huge relief, Steve still answered every unknown phone call with a bit of trepidation, until it finally came. Sam was chopping bell peppers as Steve sat at the counter with a beer when he answered.

"Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Mr. Fury. Nick, of course. I'll see you Monday morning."

Sam was grinning. "I told you, man! Congratulations!"

"Oh my god," Steve said, setting his forehead on the counter. The euphoria shot through him side-by-side with anxiety. Finally, he grinned. "Oh my god!"

"I'm calling Darcy. We need to celebrate," Sam announced.

Lucky for him, he had the whole of Sunday to sleep off the epic hangover from his congratulatory party. Darcy was a terrible influence, but heaps of fun. She'd brought her friend Jane, in an attempt to set Steve up, but it was clear they were going to be great friends and nothing more.

Steve strode directly to the gate on Monday morning. The guard grinned at him. He was an older gentleman, with white hair, a grey moustache and large brown glasses.

"Welcome back, Mr. Rogers," he said cheerfully, handing him a badge. "Swipe that at the door in the gate, and you won't even have to talk to this old man anymore."

"Thanks, Stan," Steve said, reading his name tag. "I appreciate it!"

Steve made his way to wardrobe and found Fury amongst the racks of pantaloons.

He was assigned two characters to dress: the leading man and lady. Steve was about to protest at such a big responsibility for someone so new, but found that he was quite excited for the challenge. Nick gave him a script to read and a sketch pad and pencils.

"Who's playing the leads?" Steve asked, as he made himself a nest in the couch debris that had doubled since he'd last been there.

"Peggy Carter and James Barnes," Fury replied, muffled from behind a plate of armor.

Steve's vision went white for a moment and he coughed violently as he choked on his own spit. There was always so much commotion in the studios; several movies, series and talk shows filming at once, he never even let himself dream that he'd be…

Nick poked his bald head out from behind a rack, a spear in one hand and a furrow in his brow like he wasn't sure if he was going to need to call an ambulance or perform CPR.

_Bucky Barnes._ He'd be dressing Bucky Barnes. He'd be measuring and having meetings and fittings with Bucky Barnes.

Steve leaned back against the couch, crumpling the magazine pages and sketches that were littered behind him.

He was utterly and completely _fucked._


	2. Chiffon

Steve was beginning to get a feel for Fury after four days on the job. He was a strong personality, passionate about what he believed in. But he wasn't around much, once Steve had gotten his official training on the Shield procedures.

Steve had read the script to get to know the characters, and had sketched a couple pages worth of designs. He was currently taking a break by rifling through the many racks of costumes.

Some were ready-made items that had been altered, but some were from scratch. There was an adjoining room beyond the clothing racks that held four sewing machines and sergers, and a wall full of fabric and notions. That was the direction Steve wanted to take his first silver screen costumes. Made from scratch, not even a premade pattern, so he could get every detail just so.

There was a rap at the door frame, and he poked his head out from behind the rack of blazers. Bucky stood at the door with two cups of coffee in his hands.

"You got the job!" he said excitedly, raising his coffee-laden hands. Steve blushed and ducked his head. He'd been mentally preparing himself for interactions with Bucky, though he hadn't expected him to show up out of the blue like this.

"Thanks to you getting me here on time," Steve replied. He was mortified about his behavior the last time they met and was determined to not let his crush on Bucky get the best of him. He thought it was going well so far. Bucky seemed pleased that he was able to string coherent words together a bit better this time around.

"I think you did most of the work. Here," he said, holding out a coffee with the half-smile Steve had seen so often in his movies. "I took the liberty. It's just black, I don't know how you like it yet."

As much as Steve had prepared himself for speaking with Bucky, he hadn't prepared for Bucky flirting with him, which was what his brain was trying to tell him was happening right now. The rational part of him dismissed the thought instantly.

"Thanks, black is perfect," he said, taking the offered cup. He'd written "Congratulations! :)" on the cardboard sleeve in messy script.

"What'd I tell you about Fury, huh?" Bucky said, strolling in to flop down on the couch, on top of everything, testing the temperature of the coffee carefully against his lips. Steve leaned back against the vanity.

"He's not so bad. He actually seems to have given me run of the place," Steve gestured around vaguely.

"Must be those trustworthy eyes," Bucky teased. "So you're doing my wardrobe? What've you got for my uniform?" he asked, quirking one eyebrow over those dancing blue eyes.

The movie was a WWII period piece about a GI's romance with a British nurse, and Steve was totally in his element. He loved the '40s era fashion, and set his cup down to grab his sketchbook and move to the couch. He handed Bucky his sketchbook and dumped a pile of fabric unceremoniously onto the floor so he could sit next to him. The first page was a bare-bones sketch of a Sergeant's uniform.

Steve gestured for Bucky to flip the page. There were sketches and doodles across the page, culminating in a waist-up of Bucky in an olive green jacket, complete with brass buttons and army pins. Steve realized he may have spent a little too much time on Bucky's face and hair, with detailing and shadowing, but it was too late now.

"Wow," Bucky breathed. "These are really good."

Steve chuckled nervously, swiping his hand over the back of his neck. "Thanks. Like I said, I went to art school, and have always liked drawing. It's helped me out in designing."

"Could I have one of these?" Bucky asked, then amended quickly, when Steve's eyes widened in surprise. "Just when you're done with them, I mean. It's-it's really great," he said with a small chuckle.

"Yeah, of course," Steve replied. He always thought he was pretty good, but was sure his artwork didn't deserve the reverence with which Bucky was admiring it.

There was a rap at the door and both men looked up to see Peggy Carter leaning her hip against the doorway.

"Hello there, I didn't mean to interrupt. Just dropped by to say hello," she said with a smile. She was in a white blouse and black slacks, and she was even more gorgeous in person than on screen.

"More like you heard our new costumer is a beefcake and you came to get your hands on him," Bucky teased. Steve was pretty sure he blacked out for a second.

Peggy laughed, "While that is the word that's going around, my intentions are pure, I assure you." She stepped forward and extended her hand. Steve rose to take it. "Peggy Carter, pleasure to meet you."

"Steve Rogers, likewise." Steve stood, taking a fistful of fabric scraps and thread spools with him from the couch and gesturing to the open space. Peggy sat at the edge of the cushion and crossed her ankles while Steve grabbed the chair from the vanity.

"How has Nick been treating you? Gently, I hope."

"Oh, he's been just fine," Steve replied. "Not nearly as terrifying as his name, or his eye patch, suggests."

"Did Bucky tell you about chiffon?"

The three of them laughed and chatted easily for a few minutes about the goings on at the studio and the production schedule. It was the most surreal moment of Steve's life.

"Well, I suppose I ought to leave you boys to it," she said with a lopsided smile at Bucky, who Steve thought might've been glaring at her, but he was trying hard not to look at him too much. "Steve, I'll be seeing you. I trust you'll make me look gorgeous."

"Won't be hard," Steve said, standing as Peggy took her leave.

Bucky was looking at him incredulously as Steve sat back down.

"What?"

Bucky just shook his head with a smile. "You're somethin' else."

"Am I?" Steve asked, trying and failing to suppress a grin behind his coffee cup. He was pretty sure that sounded like a compliment.

"Yeah. Not sure what, yet," Bucky said. He had to run to a read-through with the cast, and shot Steve a friendly grin as he left. Steve managed to keep his feet until Bucky was out of sight, then he collapsed on the couch, mentally exhausted.

His couldn't stop his mind from playing back everything Bucky had said. Steve slid down on the couch to rest his head on the armrest. He needed to stop that train of thought at the station. Bucky wasn't gay; Steve had seen pictures of him a while ago on tabloid covers and on the Internet with the Russian supermodel Natalia Romanova. Not that no one could fake a relationship, but it seemed genuine. They were together for a while before they split up a few months ago.

Even if he wasn't strictly straight, Bucky would never be interested in him. A man couldn't go from dating arguably the most beautiful woman in the world to a dork like him. Steve wasn't unaware of his physical attractiveness, he was just painfully aware of Bucky's.

Even if Bucky was mildly interested, for the sake of his heart, Steve needed to avoid that like the plague. He was never a casual relationship kind of guy. It would be all too easy to fall head over heels for Bucky, he could tell already, and it would never work out between them, even if Bucky wanted something serious. Bucky was constantly traveling all over the world for press and shooting, surrounded by beautiful people who all wanted a piece of him. Steve couldn't compete. It spelled heartbreak all over.

"Glad to see you're working hard," Fury said, strolling in through the back room. Steve startled so hard that couch debris flew up around him and onto the floor.

"I was just…" Steve started, but trailed off.

"Let's see what you've sketched up so far," Fury said, holding his hand out for Steve's sketchbook. Steve handed it over. Fury made a few grunting noises, but Steve couldn't tell what they meant.

"I haven't done many for Ms. Carter yet, but I was thinking we could do something with…chiffon?" he offered hopefully.

Fury narrowed his eyes at him for a moment.

"Why would we do anything but chiffon? 100% yes on the chiffon, obviously. I think red, don't you?" he said, sitting down beside Steve and dumping his tin of colored pencils on the coffee table. Steve grimaced as the yellow and green pencils rolled off onto the floor, but pointed over Fury's arm to indicate a lower neckline and a flutter sleeve.

They'd begun building a fantastic 1942 New York street scene in the open air lot, and Steve was poking around a few days later. Walking by the old cars and storefronts seemed to transport him back in time. It was delightful.

* * *

"Clint!" Steve called, as he caught sight of his blonde friend stringing up some cables along a green screen.

He didn't turn, so Steve jogged up to him and tapped his leg where he stood on the third step of a ladder. He grinned as he glanced down, and reached into his ear to turn his hearing aid back on.

"Hey, man, you got the job!" Clint said, giving him a bro shake-hug.

He and Clint met in college, when Clint got the lead in Robin Hood and Steve dressed him.

"Yeah, thank you for telling me about it. It's amazing!"

"Have you met Peggy yet?" Clint asked earnestly. Steve laughed.

"I have and yes, she's a bombshell and a half, just like you said."

Somebody called for Clint to help them hang something, and Steve waved him off. He was about to head back to wardrobe when he saw Bucky walking across the lot toward a red-haired woman. She was wearing dark jeans with sandals and a white tank top. It seemed at odds with Natalia Romanova's 24-hour glam goddess persona. She was shorter than he thought, but no less beautiful.

Bucky touched her arms as he reached her, and they talked closely for a minute, before walking off together, Bucky's hand settling on the small of her back.

Steve's stomach sank, and he cursed himself for it.

* * *

There was a big kitchen on the studio lot that Fury had shown Steve when he'd taken him around on a tour on his first day on the job. Steve used it to toast the bagels he brought in for breakfast. It was generally all but abandoned. Posh people in the movie business didn't usually bring their own lunches. More often than not, though, a big blonde guy was there sipping his coffee out of a gigantic mug that looked like a prop from a Viking movie and munching on something or other.

Steve asked to sit with him one day, after they'd exchanged nods and hello's a half dozen times.

"Please do, my friend," he said in a Norse accent, sweeping his hand across the table grandly.

Steve had seen him on set fiddling with the lights, and discovered his name was, charmingly, Thor. He spoke familiarly, and Steve got the impression that he'd considered them friends since the first nod they'd exchanged.

They had breakfast together almost every day after that.

* * *

Peggy was just leaving wardrobe the next day when Bucky walked in with two coffees. Steve was still a little dazed from his conversation with her; she was so beautiful and sharp it was dazzling.

"Hey Peg," Bucky said as she passed.

"Is this going to be a regular thing? Because I'll cancel my next delivery of K-cups if it is." Steve said as he took the offered cup. His heart still skipped whenever he saw Bucky, he figured that wasn't going to change anytime soon, but he was having an easier time being himself around him. He thought they might even be friends.

"Well would you look at that?" Bucky said as he sat on the clean sofa. Steve could take it no longer and had spent the entire previous afternoon cleaning and organizing the wardrobe office. "I had no idea this thing was purple."

"Hey, I pulled the chiffon trick with Fury," Steve said conspiratorially. He'd been dying to tell him about it. "I was hoping to save it a while, but I had to play it already. Probably doesn't bode well for me."

Bucky laughed that easy laugh of his that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"It's not a one-time card. I know Peggy's played it at least three times. I'm pretty sure he's caught on to us by now, but somehow it still works."

"Good to know. I have a feeling I'm going to be getting into trouble with him a lot," Steve said, moving to perch on the opposite armrest.

"You, trouble? Please, you're 100% all-American boy scout," Bucky said, but for some reason Steve knew he didn't really believe it.

So he shot him a fake glare. "I'll have you know, I got into my fair share of trouble as a kid. I had a big mouth and didn't know when to shut it. Still don't," he said.

"Let me guess, defending ladies' honor; sticking up for the little guys?"

Steve wasn't about to tell him he'd been one of the little guys. "Something like that."

"So listen," Bucky said casually, "today's Tuesday. Some of the crew goes out to Johnny's for pancake dinners at six, if you wanna come?"

Steve hesitated. He wanted to, very very much. Which was why he was glad he had a legitimate excuse.

"Ah, I would, but this guy's got a date with Peggy Carter tonight," he said, jabbing his thumbs at himself, trying to laugh about it and sounding incredibly dorky instead.

"Oh?" Bucky said, his grin falling.

"Uh, yeah she asked me to dinner," he said with a self-deprecating smile.

"Well, get it, man," Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Hey, I'm looking for Steve," a man said as he strolled in the room without so much as a knock.

Steve stood. "You must be Brock," he said, offering his hand. Fury had outfits lined up for a couple of minor characters, and had tasked Steve with the fittings.

Brock was a big guy who looked like he enjoyed the gym and possibly also tanning beds. He blatantly appraised Steve with a lascivious look as he shook his hand.

Bucky groaned quietly and Steve thought he heard him say, "I can't watch this" under his breath as he stood.

"I'll see you later, Steve. Rumlow." Bucky said, as he left. Steve got the feeling there was no love lost between the two of them.

Turned out Bucky had the right idea about the guy. Steve had to shut him down pretty hard for him to get the point, and practically shoved him out the door.

Steve worked at the studio until it was time to meet Peggy.

Despite having a date with one of the most respected actresses of his generation, Steve was surprisingly calm about it. He felt a connection with Peggy, like they'd known each other for years. He didn't have any illusions about how the night would go. Every date he'd been on in the recent past ended the same; he wound up with a lot of great friends. He was glad for that, but Steve was starting to miss something, he just didn't know he was looking for.


	3. Chapter 3

Read the rest at archiveofourown dot org under the username Austinb!


End file.
